


Ours

by grantaireslonelysoul



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, Pregnancy, i am so sorry if this is medically inaccurate, i tried so hard to make it realistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantaireslonelysoul/pseuds/grantaireslonelysoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Musichetta finds herself pregnant, they're all curious as to who the father is. But as it turns out, it's not really about the baby's father-it's about their family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-d by the loverly Taulima captveitingtveit on tumblr she's the bomb.

From the moment she woke up, Musichetta could smell the cinnamon rolls-her favorite.  She smiled. Bossuet-or was it Joly?-had been good to her this morning. Lazily, she rolled over. They both were downstairs already. Smiling slightly, she went down to join them.

                _Oh._ And then the worry she’d had for a while now sank in. She’d forgotten as she slept, of course, but it came back to haunt her now. She sighed. She was going to have to tell them.

                She went to the bathroom before meandering down to the kitchen. Joly and Bossuet were sitting at the table, Joly studying the paper and Bossuet reading the comics.

                “Morning, ‘Chetta,” Joly said, smiling kindly. “Cinnamon roll?”

                She accepted the pastry, biting into it softly. God, Bossuet’s homemade frosting was supreme.

                “I have something to tell you guys,” she started, and the boys looked at her.

                “Go ahead, ‘Chetta,” Bossuet said, glancing at Joly. “We’re listening.”

                Musichetta took a deep breath. “I’m late.”

                Silence. Broken by Bossuet, of course. “For…what?”

                Musichetta sighed. She knew Joly understood-and hell, he could probably explain it to Bossuet-but this was something she had to do herself.

                “I mean my period,” she said flatly. “It’s late.”

                More silence. Then Joly.

                “How…late?”

                She sighed. “About a week and a half.”

                Joly looked stricken. “Okay. We’ll…we should wait a bit…like if it doesn’t come in the next few days? Then I can make you an appointment and we’ll…we’ll see.”

                “This really wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Bossuet piped up. “I mean, we weren’t trying, but…neither of you especially _don’t_ want a baby either, right?”

                “Right,” Joly agreed, looking more sure of himself. “I mean, this may not be planned, but it’s almost better that way, right? Like a surprise.”

                Bossuet nodded, and Musichetta sighed. “I’m not against a baby, honestly. But…don’t you guys…doesn’t it bother you that…?”

                Two blank faces stared back at her.

                “You know…”

                Nothing.

                “Guys…”

                “’Chetta, we don’t understand. Just say it,” Bossuet coaxed.

                Musichetta sighed. “Whose kid am I having?!”

                “ _Oh._ ”

                ~

                “I’m pregnant,” Musichetta said to herself, alone in the bathroom, looking at the stick.

                “I’m pregnant,” she repeated, after the doctor had confirmed the test and was smiling at her.

                “I’m pregnant,” she told herself in the car, smiling at herself.

                “I’m pregnant,” she finally ended up telling Joly and Bossuet, and they all giggled and patted her stomach.

                “You really are,” Bossuet said with wonder. He was lying on his back, staring amazed at the ceiling. “There’s a child in there.”

                “It sounds like I ate a kid,” Musichetta grumbled, sitting up straight. “Like it’s trying to get out of me.”

                “When’s it due?” Joly asked, leaning in.

                “The doctor said I’m about three weeks along. So…about the beginning of August,” Musichetta confirmed. “And can we not say ‘it’? ‘It’ disturbs me.”

                “When do we get to know the sex?” Bossuet asked.

                “When the baby is born.” Musichetta was firm. “We are going to be surprised, and I don’t want to hear any complaining about it.”

                “And when will we know the father?” Joly was anxious.

                Musichetta sighed. “Mid-to-end-of February. But…I mean…you guys aren’t, like…competing, are you? No one’s going to be hurt, or…”

                The boys shook their heads. “We just want to know. Do you know how you’re going to…?”

                Typical Joly. Musichetta smiled. “He said…something called CVS? Chr…Villius…Sampling…I don’t know. I’m not too worried about it.”

                Joly paled. “Do you know what that is?”

                “No…”

                “They take cells from…” Joly nodded to Musichetta’s stomach. “There.”

                “How?” Bossuet asked, intrigued.

                Joly sighed. “A needle. Up the-“

                “Oh, no way in hell,” Musichetta interrupted. “Nope. Nope. Nope. A _needle_?”

                “A sterile needle!”

                “A needle nonetheless! That sounds _painful,_ Joly!”

                “It really isn’t-“

                “How the hell would you know? You’ve never had to get a needle stuck up your fucking vagina!”

                Bossuet laughed, and his lovers looked at him.

                “Sorry,” he giggled. “I…just wonder how many times that’s been said before.”

                Musichetta’s glare was truly murderous.

                Joly sighed. “’Chetta, it’s a common and necessary procedure. I’m sorry it disturbs you, but I promise it is not as bad as it sounds.”

                “Okay.”

                ~

                “Did you know that baby Baby has a heartbeat about now, and tiny tiny lungs?” Joly asked one morning at breakfast. Due to Musichetta’s hatred of ‘it’, and her refusing to know the gender, they all had adopted the name ‘baby Baby’.

                “I thought you worked with patients with heart disease, not babies,” Bossuet teased. “Why the sudden knowledge?”

                Joly blushed. “I asked one of my friends-the same one who’ll deliver baby Baby, incidentally-for some info, and he gave me a book. It’s the end of the first month, right? So baby Baby has lungs and a heartbeat.”

                “It’s also Christmastime,” Musichetta pointed out. “Whose family are we visiting this year?”

                “It’s my sister’s year to make the pudding, so we can skip my family this year,” Bossuet volunteered.

                “You sure, Eagle?” Joly asked.

                “Of course.  I think it’s my year anyway. We’ll go to your brother’s, and ‘Chetta’s parents, and we can catch my family another year. We went there for Thanksgiving, remember?”

                Joly shrugged, and Musichetta cleared her throat. “I have another question.”

                “Shoot.”

                “Should we tell them? About baby Baby?”

                Joly’s answer was almost immediate. “No.”

                “Whoa there, Doc,” Bossuet commented “Don’t-“

                “It’s too early in the pregnancy. Something could happen, and that’d be awful enough for us even without having to tell three families. We aren’t telling them until at least the third month.”

                Bossuet and Musichetta were silent. This was a possibility they hadn’t thought of.

                Finally, Musichetta broke the silence. “Okay, Joly,” she said quietly.

                “’Chetta,” Joly said awkwardly. “I didn’t mean…”

                “No. You’re right. We shouldn’t. We’ll tell them later. Valentine’s Day, maybe. If there’s still a baby then.”

                “’Chetta.” Now Joly was exasperated. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I’ve just seen this enough to be cautious. I didn’t…”

                “No, I know. Just be careful. I’m capable of killing a baby, but just forget that. You didn’t mean it. Let’s move on and talk about something else. What do you want for dinner?”

                “’Chetta.” Joly spoke firmly. “That’s not what I said. All I said was that I don’t want to tell our families just yet, because I think it’s too early.” He moved forward to embrace her and she let herself be held.

                Joly’s embrace was different than Bossuet’s. He held her tightly, and rather than kissing her hair, he cradled her head into his shoulder. He didn’t say a word-just held her and rocked back and forth slightly. He held on longer, too, not letting go until he could be sure she was alright.

                Musichetta loved them both, but right now, she really needed a Joly hug.

                “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

                “Me, too.”

                Bossuet walked over near them, and Musichetta laughed and opened her arm. “Join us, Eagle,” she laughed, and he did.

                The three of them stood in the kitchen, laughing softly and holding each other and grinning. Bossuet whispered, “Not long before there are four of us,” and their smiles widened.


	2. January

Bossuet knew he wasn’t the father.

                Well, okay, he didn’t _know,_ but he had a strong feeling.

                It really didn’t bother him _that_ much, honestly. He’d still be a part of baby Baby’s life. He’d change diapers and stay up late and make airplane noises while holding a spoon. It’d be great.

                Joly kept reminding them all that it was purely chance, and it could be either of them. They both definitely _could_ be the father, he kept saying. At this point there really was no way to tell.

                But Bossuet had been lucky approximately once in his life, and that was upon starting to date Joly and Musichetta. Honestly, he felt, asking for more than that would be selfish.

                So he was happy for Joly, because he knew how much this meant to him, and he was happy for Musichetta, because although she never would admit it, she’d be a terrific mother. And he was happy for himself, too, because he’d wanted a child for the longest time and now he was finally getting one.

                And January certainly was exciting. They’d rung in the new year with their friends-though Musichetta couldn’t drink, much to her dismay. Tomorrow the three of them were going sledding, and Eponine’s birthday party was coming up, too.

                Life was good.

                “So, Joly, we haven’t had any updates on baby Baby’s progress,” Musichetta commented one morning. “Don’t keep us in the dark, how is the little nerd?”

                “Are you making fun of me?”

                “Not right now,” Musichetta gave him a winning smile. “I really want to know.”

                “Well…” Joly looked thoughtful. “Baby Baby is about the size of a raspberry.” He plucked one from the fruit salad for emphasis. “His-or-her nose and mouth are forming, and getting tiny teeth. Basically, his-or-her body is starting to lengthen and become a normal baby shape. Also, about now, baby Baby might start making you pee a lot.”

                “Already happening.”

                Joly laughed. “I was talking to ‘Chetta. You knew that. Anyway, that’s about it. The second month is fairly boring. Things will spice up next month.”

                “And we’ll know who the father is.” Bossuet pointed out.

                Musichetta glared. “No matter what that test says, you both will be baby Baby’s father. Biological or not. That test is bullshit.”

                “What should we say, though?” Bossuet countered.

                “Personally, I like ‘the one who impregnated ‘Chetta’” Joly said, smirking.

                Bossuet jumped in, too. “He-who-got-laid.”

                “Baby daddy.”

                “Spermgiver.”

                That one made them all laugh. “Spermgiver!” Musichetta repeated, shaking with laughter. Tears were running down her cheeks. “I love it. Next month, we find out who the spermgiver is. Nice job, Eagle.”

                Bossuet took a bow. “Thank you, thank you.”

                “Speaking of which, I hear the test date is scheduled.” Joly looked at Musichetta. “Yes? February sixteenth?”

                She nodded. “Yeah. Should we put it on the calendar?”

                The boys nodded, and Musichetta walked over to scrawl ‘S.G. Day’ on their calendar. “There. Now it’s official.”

                “It’s also a month from today,” Bossuet pointed out. “We’ll know the fat-spermgiver,” he corrected himself, under Musichetta’s glare, “in thirty days.”

                “Let the countdown begin,” Joly quipped, and they did.

                ~

                “Hey, what’s S.G. Day?” Bahorel asked, peering at their calendar two weeks later.

                Musichetta slapped his hand. “Don’t you know better than to go snooping around with things that don’t belong to you?!”

                “Calm down, ‘Chetta, he was just being curious,” Joly said, walking over.

                “I bet you’d be a lot less irritable if you had a drink, ‘Chetta,” remarked Feuilly, also joining the conversation. “Let me make you a-“

                “ _No._ No. I’m sorry, Bahorel. Just…leave it, okay? Just leave it.” Musichetta walked away.

                Feuilly looked at Joly. “What’s her deal?”

                “She’s just stressed. You know, with…things.” Joly was a terrible liar.

                “It’s time for me to open my presents!” Eponine clapped her hands. “Okay. So. Who would like to generously volunteer to go first? Anyone? Hands, I’m looking for hands, and no obnoxious ‘ooo, ooo, ooo!’.”

                Courfeyrac was the first, striding to the front of the room with a grin. He proudly presented Eponine with a medium-sized box wrapped in purple paper.

                “Hmm…it’s a bit small to be a stripper, but they can bend easy and I wouldn’t put it past you, Courf. You _did_ give me sex toys last year…”

                As Eponine wondered aloud what it could be, Bahorel leaned in to Joly and Bossuet, who had now joined them, and whispered “So, what _is_ S.G. Day, anyway?”

                Joly and Bossuet froze. Had Musichetta been here, she would have known exactly what to say, but she was laughing with Grantaire and they had no clue. “It’s…uh…” stammered Joly, “It’s…”

                Bossuet knew he had to act fast, before his boyfriend blew it. “It’s Seaborgium Day.”

                “Seaborgium Day?” Bahorel, Joly and Feuilly echoed.

                Bossuet was bright red. “Yeah, like the element? Sg? We’re…celebrating the elements at work, and…well, we’re supposed to share them with our families. February sixteenth is Seaborgium Day. Tomorrow is Bismuth Day.”

                “Why don’t you have any other days on there?” Bahorel asked, at the same time Feuilly pointed out “Bossuet, you are a _lawyer._ ”

                Choosing to answer Bahorel’s question over Feuilly’s logic, Bossuet widened his eyes. “They aren’t? Damn it. Well, I’ll…I’ll get ‘em on there!”

                Trying desperately to both change the subject and keep in a laugh, Joly pointed and exclaimed “Look, Courf actually _did_ get Eponine a stripper!”  
                Feuilly’s brow furrowed. “No, he didn’t. He got her an obnoxious shirt and a stuffed animal.”

                “Oh, right, sorry, I wasn’t wearing my glasses.”

                Bossuet quickly looked at Joly. “Do you want to go get a drink with me? There’s still some left in the kitchen.”

                “Yeah!”

                They scurried away, bickering quietly.

                “Seaborgium Day?” Joly hissed, looking at Bossuet. “ _Seaborgium Day?_ ”

                “It was the only thing I could think of!” Bossuet whispered back defensively. “And it was better than your stammering!”

                “By how much?!”

                ~

                When they told Musichetta, she was in tears. “Seaborgium Day!” she gasped. “Why would we even…you’re a _lawyer_!” she laughed. “Oh my God. You two, I swear. I am so lucky. It’s times like these when I realize it.”

                “D’aww, Chetta, we’re lucky, too,” Bossuet teased, and the three of them embraced.

                Halfway through, Musichetta let out a snort. “What?” Bossuet asked. “You okay?”

                She just grinned and snorted again. “Oh, I’m not wearing my glasses!” she mocked, and Joly hit her lightly.

                “What would you have done?” Joly asked. “They were getting suspicious and I panicked.”

                “I would have told them,” Musichetta said simply. “I would have said that it stands for Single Guys Day, or that it was personal, or _anything_ else!”

                Bossuet blushed. “I know, I know. It was dumb. Can we move on?”

                “Oh, Eagle, of course,” Musichetta crooned. “I’m sorry, boys, did I hurt your feelings? Let me make it better.” She kissed up Bossuet’s neck and then turned to Joly.

                He was already there, taking her and kissing her squarely on the lips and refusing to stop. She ran her fingers through his hair as she kissed him back, and Bossuet cleared his throat. “Gonna invite me, too?”

                They broke apart to look at him. “Who do you want?” Joly smirked.

                “I’ll take the beautiful one with the dark hair,” Bossuet teased, eyeing Musichetta’s black curls and Joly’s brown hair, and that was all the invitation necessary. They were all over him, kissing ever spot they could reach, and Bossuet smiled.

                This was all he needed.

 


	3. February

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer to put up than it should have and I apologize.

Joly knew what day it was as soon as he woke up.

                “Spermgiver day,” he said quietly, and Musichetta rolled over. “What, baby?”

                “Nothing, ‘Chetta, go back to sleep. I have to be at work early. I’m meeting you at the hospital.”

                “’Kay,” she murmured, turning back over, and Joly smiled and kissed her head.

                He got up to shower and get ready. It was going to be a busy day.

                ~

                “Doctor Joly, yes,” his supervisor said when he walked in. “We’ve got a new patient for you-a Mr. Fauchelevent?”

                “Oh, okay.” Joly nodded.

                “He has serious heart problems, but we’re confident that you can resolve the issue. Would you like to see him?”

                “Yes, please.”

                He worked all day, until a nurse came by and tapped his shoulder. “Doctor Joly, there’s been a call for you. Your girlfriend is here…”

                Joly leaped up. “Right! Alright, what room is she in?”

                “528.”

                “Gotcha. Thanks, Adrienne.”

                He raced across the hospital to the OB/GYN department, where the door to room 528 was open.

                “Hey, Joly,” Musichetta said softly. “Come on in.”

                The lights were dimmed, and she lie on the hospital bed with her legs spread. The hospital gown looked beautiful on her, and Bossuet was holding her hand. “Hey, there.” He was quiet, too. “We didn’t want to start without you.”

                “I’m here.” Joly took Musichetta’s other hand.

                “Well, it looks like we have everyone,” the doctor smiled. “Now, you know that both potential fathers have to do a cheek swab, just so we can match DNA, right?”

                Joly and Bossuet nodded.

                “Alright, here we go.”

                The procedure was simple, without much trouble. Musichetta tensed up when the needle was inserted, but she squeezed Joly and Bossuet’s hands, and they squeezed back.

                “Now that that’s done-and you’ll get your results back in about ten days-do you want an ultrasound?” the doctor asked.  “It’s typical to have one around the third month anyway, and if you’re here…”

                “Yes.” Musichetta answered for all three of them. Her eyes were shining, though whether it was  from tears or excitement was hard to tell.

                All three of them gasped when the baby came on the screen.

                “That’s…our baby,” Bossuet managed to get out. “Ours. She…he…the baby…is so beautiful.”

                “I know,” Musichetta whispered. “Can you believe it, Joly?”

                Joly couldn’t say anything. He swallowed as he watched the baby’s image on the screen. With his free hand, he wiped the tears from his eyes, and Musichetta squeezed his other one. “I know,” she said again. “It’s breathtaking.”

                ~

                “Hey, ‘Chetta, you have a baby bump!” Bossuet exclaimed at breakfast a week later.

                She looked down. “Only a little one.”

                “It’s cute,” Joly said, smiling. “It happens around this time. Do you want to hear what else happens during the third month?”

                Musichetta winced. “Does it involve me being very, very sore?”

                Joly nodded. “But the good news is, the nausea will end now, too.”

                “What about baby Baby?” Bossuet asked, biting into a piece of toast.

                “The little munchkin is going to be fully formed-that’s why the third month is good for ultrasounds.”

                Musichetta smiled. “Great.”

                “Can I feel?” Bossuet walked over and hesitantly put his hand over Musichetta’s stomach. She nodded, and he grinned. “Cool.”

                “When do we find out the results?” Joly asked, trying to sound offhand, but Musichetta was having none of it.

                “You’ll get an envelope at work in three days, which we’ve been over, like, three times at least. Why do you care so much? We talked about this. You’ll be the father nonetheless.”

                “Hey, Doc, how’s the new patient doing?” Bossuet asked, trying to change the subject. “Everything alright?”

                Joly swallowed. “Yeah, it’s going okay. Tricky, though.”

                “Well, you’ve never failed,” Musichetta said briskly, clearing the table. “You’re the best doctor in the hospital.”

                Joly blushed. “Thanks.”

                “So, _now_ can we tell our friends?” Bossuet asked, jumping up and down. “I really want to let everyone know.” He bumped into Musichetta, causing her to drop a bowl, which Joly caught with ease.

                “Calm down, Eagle,” Musichetta laughed, taking back the bowl. “How about once we know the spermgiver? How does that sound, Joly?”

                Joly forced a smile. “Great.”       

                ~

                He got the envelope three days later, exactly as planned.

                He would not peek. It wouldn’t be fair. They would all look at it together, later that night. He was to be strictly the delivery boy, nothing more. Looking in the envelope would be wrong.

                Fifteen minutes later, he opened the envelope.

                He regretted it right away, hurrying to close it and put it away so he wouldn’t be tempted. ‘Chetta and Bossuet trusted him. It was good that he hadn’t seen anything.

                Except Bossuet’s name.

                No. No, surely it wasn’t. Well, it was, but, he tried to convince himself, his name was surely on there, too. They probably had the names of both potential fathers and their test results, and then the test results of the baby.

                _But then why was Bossuet’s name so big?_

Because he was the father.

                Joly finally admitted it to himself. Bossuet was baby Baby’s father. He was not. That was just how it was.

                He didn’t see any more patients for the rest of the day.

                ~

                He tossed the envelope on the table when he got home and started walking up the stairs.

                “Don’t you want to open it with us?” Musichetta called, but he shook his head.

                “I’ve been up since four, I just want to sleep.”

                “You didn’t look at it, did you?” Bossuet asked, but Joly pretended not to hear. He trudged to the bedroom, lie down, and fell asleep at once, eager to forget.

                ~

                When he woke up two hours later, Musichetta was rubbing his back. “Joly, baby, you’ve got to get up. It’s almost dinnertime. Bossuet’s picking us up Chinese.”

                Joly sat up, rubbing his eyes. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

                Musichetta sighed. “Yes, it is. But, Joly, that means almost nothing. You’re still going to be-“

                He cut her off. “You know that’s not true. This is always going to be _your_ child, and I’ll always be this other guy barging in.”

                Only if you knew Musichetta would you be able to tell she was not mad. “Joly, no. How could we think of you like that? This isn’t going to change anything.”

                Joly lay down again. “I just feel so…wrong.”  
                Now Musichetta was a little mad. “It’s not like you fucked anything up, Joly. It could have been you, but it wasn’t. It was a game of chance, and guess what? Bossuet won.  And, you know, would it kill you to act a _little_ happy for him? You know he’s never once been lucky, but he is thrilled right now. You know, this is something the three of us _used_ to be really, really happy about.”

                Joly sighed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

                Musichetta softened. “Did you know that the ultrasound picture was included with the results? Do you want to see?”

                He nodded, and she kissed his cheek and pulled a picture out of her pocket.

                It was blurry and hard to see, and had Joly not had years of medical experience, he probably would not have been able to make out anything at all, but there was a baby. Tiny, but a baby.

                Joly teared up. “’Chetta,” he whispered. “It’s your baby.”

                Musichetta was crying quietly, too, though with a shaky smile on her face. “Look, Joly,” she replied softly as she pulled him into her arms. “It’s our baby.”

 


	4. March

                It was time to tell their friends.

                They’d all decided that Musichetta’s baby bump was too large to hide, and besides that, they were too excited. It was all becoming real, and they were going to start planning.

                And so, they had to figure out how to tell them.

                They’d vetoed Bossuet’s idea of a skit-“I could be the baby, I’m bald!”-and Joly’s suggestion of a little card-“Like one of the save-the-date things for weddings!”-and especially Musichetta’s idea of not telling them at all. “’Chetta, what’s that coming out of your vagina?’ ‘Holy crapnipple, I think it’s a baby!’”

                In the end, they decided just to host a party and let it come up in conversation. “We’ll know what to say when the time comes,” Bossuet decided. “For now, let’s get planning!”

                The baby’s nursery would be in the spare bedroom. “What if we have a guest?” Bossuet asked, and Musichetta raised her eyebrows. “Then baby Baby will have a roommate.”

                They painted it green-or, rather, Joly and Bossuet did. Musichetta wasn’t allowed to whiff the paint fumes.

                She glared at them from across the hall. “You missed a spot.” she sulked, and Bossuet put his paintbrush down. “’Chetta, are you jealous?”

                “Yes,” she pouted. “I want to help!”

                He walked over and put his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. “How about you run and pick up food for us. Your choice. Joly and I’ll finish up for the day.”

                She took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay.”

                Bossuet and Joly didn’t say a word to each other until Musichetta came back.

                It had been an awkward couple of weeks since the paternity test results had come back. Joly had been avoiding Bossuet and Musichetta as much as possible, making them shut him out slightly, as well.

                “Joly, the pizza’s ready!” Bossuet called. There was no response for a few seconds, but he eventually answered. “Okay, be there in a second!”

                Fifteen minutes later, Musichetta was getting hungry. “Joly, are you coming?”

                “You know what, just go ahead and eat without me,” he replied. “I want to finish the trim.”

                Bossuet smiled awkwardly. “We’ve been working hard on that. I understand why he wants to finish.”

                “Don’t give me that,” Musichetta scoffed. “He’s evading us.”    

                “’Chetta, that’s not fair. He thinks he’s helping.”

                “Well, he’s fucking not. I don’t need his little dramatic cry for attention.”

                They didn’t say another word.

                ~

                A few days later was the party. Musichetta was the first one ready.

                “Come _on_ ,” she teased Bossuet, knocking hard on the bathroom door. “You don’t even have hair to wash, there’s _no_ reason you need to be this long. Hurry _up!_ They’ll be here in fifteen minutes!”

                “You’ll make me cut myself shaving.” was his only response.

                Musichetta rolled her eyes. “You cut yourself shaving every day.”

                “That’s not tru-agh!” Bossuet sighed. “Well, it is today. I just don’t have a steady hand.”

                “I could shave for you,” she suggested. “I’ve got one.”

                He laughed. “Check on Joly, and then we’ll see.”

                Resigned, she knocked on the bedroom door. “Joly? Almost ready? If you don’t hurry, Bossuet will have to greet our friends with his toilet-papered face.”

                Joly chuckled. “Another shaving injury?”

                “Isn’t it always? Anyway, I’m supposed to check on you.”

                “I’m almost ready. The tie struggle is real.”

                Musichetta snickered. “Need help?”

                Joly opened the door. “Yes, please.”

                He looked so warm, so goofy, so very purely _Joly,_ that Musichetta wanted to kiss him, but she didn’t. Instead, she just smiled and said, “You know, I think the tie might be a little formal for just hanging out.”

                He looked down. “I wondered about that.”

                “I say just the shirt is formal enough. Although pulling your pants up might be a good idea. I like them by your ankles, but, you know, I’m sure a few of your friends prefer them on your waist.”

                He blushed. “Oh, yeah. Oops.”

                She smiled at him. “You look great.”

                “Thanks.” He started to say more, but sighed and simply said “You do, too.”

                Bossuet came in, a towel around his waist and toilet paper stuck to his face. “There are my beautiful brunettes!” he beamed.

                “Once baby Baby is born, there’ll be two baldies,” Musichetta pointed out, but Bossuet shook his head. “Knowing my luck, that baby’s going to have a beautiful head of hair.” He glanced up. “Like Joly’s.”

                Joly’s smile was clearly fake, but before he could say anything, the doorbell rang.

                “Let the party begin,” Musichetta said, and it did.

                ~

                _It’s going pretty well,_ Musichetta thought, looking around. Everyone was smiling or laughing, drinking or eating, and no one was isolated or lonely. They hadn’t told anyone yet, but there was still plenty of time.

                “Hey, Bossuet, that comedian you like is coming to Paris in August. Do you want to go?” Courfeyrac asked, sipping his beer.

                Musichetta, Bossuet, and Joly exchanged a three-way-glance. They all smiled.

                “Actually, I don’t think I’ll be able to,” Bossuet said conversationally. “What with the baby and all…”        

                The room fell silent, casting questioning glances to Musichetta, so she grinned. “It’s okay, Eagle. Go with Courf. Joly and I can handle the baby.”

                “Are you serious?!” Jehan was the first to ask, and Bossuet nodded. “Musichetta is four months pregnant!”

                The room broke into cheers. Enjolras and Combeferre smiled and clapped, Bahorel clapped them on the back. Cosette, Jehan and Courfeyrac hugged all three of them, and Feuilly and Grantaire whooped. Marius smiled and Eponine was shouting. Through the mess and confusion, Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta met each other’s eyes’ and smiled.

                “Whose is it?” Eponine yelled, and Joly’s excitement fell away. He shrank back onto the couch as Musichetta said “Bossuet’s.” and Bossuet quickly covered with “But that doesn’t even matter.”

                “It doesn’t.” Combeferre agreed, looking at Joly. “All three of you will make wonderful parents. When are you due, ‘Chetta?”

                “August fifth,” she answered, beaming. She was starting to get the pregnant ‘glow’, and when she smiled, it especially showed. “I’ve heard being pregnant in summer is no fun, but I think it should be worth it. Anyone got any good name ideas?”

                “Eponine.”

                Joly smiled again. “Thanks, Ep. We’ll keep that in mind.”

                “Hey, Joly, how’s the new patient?” Cosette asked. “He’s a family friend, so of course I heard. Is he doing alright?”

                “Yes,” Joly answered politely. “Are you going to come see him?”

                “Maybe on Wednesday. I’d come sooner, but…”

                And just like that, Musichetta’s moment was gone.  
                ~

                “Hey, Bossuet?”

                Joly was working that night, so Musichetta and Bossuet were left to fend for themselves dinner-wise. They usually didn’t talk much on nights like these, so tired, and not wanting to start anything without Joly, that keeping to themselves was just easier. But tonight was different.

                He looked up from the fridge. “What?”

                “Do you want to take those birthing classes with me? Where you learn to do everything right for when the baby is born?”

                Bossuet spoke slowly. “What about Joly?”

                “There are only two spots left in the class. I tried explaining about us, but the lady was a bitch. And there’s not another class that’ll finish before baby Baby is born.”

                He exhaled. “Yes, I will take the class with you. But he’s going to be upset.”

                Musichetta sighed. “I know.”


	5. March

Joly still hadn’t looked Bossuet in the eye.

                Since the day of their first class, he’d been upset. “Where are you going?” he’d asked, looking at both of them with their coats.

                Bossuet and Musichetta glanced at each other. “Birthing class…” Musichetta said uneasily, and Joly’s brow furrowed. “…Just you two?”

                “We would have invited you, Joly, honestly, but there were only two spots left!” Bossuet cried. “And we figured you’re a doctor so you know all that stuff, and-

                “And you _are_ the father,” Joly finished. “Yeah, it makes sense that it’s you.”

                “Yeah.” Musichetta cut in angrily. “It kind of does. Let’s go, Eagle.”

                It was all Bossuet could do to throw Joly an apologetic glance as Musichetta pulled him out the door.

                When they got home, Joly was asleep already.

                “Listen, ‘Chetta, maybe he and I should alternate classes. This is his baby, too.”

                “Are you kidding me? He’d just be mopey. He and I wouldn’t have nearly as much fun as you and I did.”              

                “I know, but we’re making him feel left out. Besides, what if I can’t be there when baby Baby is born?”

                “Look me in the eye and tell me tonight wasn’t the most fun you’ve had in a while.”

                “You’re missing the point, ‘Chetta.”

                “You deserve this, Bossuet, and it bothers me that you don’t think you do!”

                There wasn’t anything to say to that. Then Bossuet sighed.

                “Just think about what I’m saying.”

                “Same to you.”

                “Alright.”

                “Alright.”

                Joly stirred, but neither of them said anything.

                ~

                It was Musichetta’s birthday.

                “God, I want a drink,” she grumbled. “It is my twenty-seventh birthday, I am carrying a goddamn _child_ in my womb, and I deserve a little Jameson and ginger ale at _least.”_

“Sorry, ‘Chetta,” Bossuet said, trying to catch Joly’s eye. “On the bright side, though, next year by this time, someone’s going to be calling you ‘Mommy’.”

                “Yeah, and what about you?” she asked, sitting down. “I mean, baby Baby’s going to have two dads, so…”

                “We could have a ‘Daddy’ and a ‘Papa’,” Bossuet offered after Joly said nothing. “Does it matter to you, Joly?”

                Joly shrugged.

                “I know you’ve always wanted to be called Daddy.”

                “Sure.”

                “I guess that makes me Papa,” Bossuet said, forcing a smile.

                Musichetta raised her eyebrows. “What a good story. I can’t wait until baby Baby asks.”

                “Hey, it’s simple. No fighting.” Bossuet’s grin was so fake, it hurt, but he kept it up. “That’s my favorite way to do things. Can I make you breakfast, ‘Chetta? Pancakes? Waffles?”

                “French toast, please, if you’re going to make something.”

                “Of course! Sausages or bacon?”

                “…Both?”

                “Go for it, birthday girl. Joly, do you want anything?”

                His voice was low when he answered. “Maybe a little sausage and orange juice.”

                It was the most words he’d spoken to them all month, and Bossuet was practically jumping for joy. “Of course! Sausage for everyone! All the sausage! Orange juice, too! There couldn’t be a better breakfast!”

                “Eagle. Calm down.” Musichetta said, but she was smiling, too. “I’m going to make some coffee, anyone else want some?”

                Her question was met with silence-Bossuet, being a morning person, never needed it, and Joly often went on about its dangers.

                She laughed. “Alright, fine. More for me.”

                “Can I stick a candle in your French toast?”

                Musichetta burst out laughing. “Is that a euphemism?”

                The corners of Joly’s lips twisted into a smile as Bossuet blushed. “No! I mean, unless you want to. But-god, sorry-if you don’t want to, we don’t have to! It’s your choice! If you want an actual candle. Or if you want…a different kind of candle. Um, I’m going to stop talking now? And, uh, just let me know. About the candle thing. Whichever way you took it.”

                Now Joly and Musichetta were both laughing. “Oh, my god,” she gasped. “This is so fantastic. Yes, Bossuet, I will take a candle in my French toast.”

                His eyes widened. “Really?”

                “Of course, it’s my birthday. Don’t you think every girl wants to blow out the candles on her birthday?”

                Even the top of Bossuet’s head was bright red. “Um, I still don’t know what you mean.”

                Joly was doubled over at this point, and Musichetta could barely speak.  “Both ways, Eagle. I want both an actual and symbolic candle in my actual and symbolic French toast.”

                “I knew that.” He got out the candles from the drawer. “Let’s just light this baby on fire.” He realized his mistake this time, turning around with a goofy grin to Musichetta and Joly. “I mean the actual candle.”

                “Thanks for clearing that up,” Joly smirked.

                Bossuet’s face colored again. “This whole thing is really awkward. ‘Chetta, do you want syrup?”

                “Is this your fancy way of asking me for creams and things we can lick off each other, or are you asking me for the actual syrup?”

                “We need a code word.” Joly remarked. “But for the record, he meant the actual syrup.”

                “I wouldn’t be opposed to symbolic syrup, though. Just say the word, ‘Chetta.”

                “Don’t push your luck.”

                ~

                When they had finished eating, Musichetta was the first to rise. “Well, that was tasty, but Bossuet’s assured me that he can do better with another sort of candle and French toast.”

                “Joly, you in?” Bossuet asked, standing up and clearing his plate. “She acts like such a hardass about the syrup thing, but I’m pretty sure she’ll do it. She’s just as kinky as we are, if not more.”

                “I don’t know, guys,” he sighed. “I really need to put in more hours at work if I want things to go well…and I’m tired from getting in late last night…”

                “Joly.” Musichetta put her hand on his face and kissed his neck, sucking onto the skin. “It’s my birthday. Please say yes.”

                He smiled and walked with them. “Yes.”

                ~

                The next few weeks, however, Joly was nowhere near as interactive as he had been.

                “It’s not you, it’s work,” he kept saying. “I need to be there for my patients. Things have taken a turn for the worse, and well…I just really, really need to be there to help.”

                Bossuet was trying to understand. He really was. Joly’s work was important, and he certainly made the most money to help for baby Baby’s nursery and diapers and college savings and such. He had doctors who needed his advice and patients who needed his knowledge.

                But for god’s sake, could he be home _one_ night a week?

                “He’s avoiding us!” he complained to Musichetta one night. “He’s never been working in his life as much as he is right now! And, what, it just so _happens_ that it’s during the same time period that he finds out he’s not a biological father?! It’s not fair! We’ve been nothing but open to him!”

                She rubbed his back. “I know, baby. I know. He-“ She stopped suddenly. “Bossuet.”

                “What?”

                “Bossuet, baby Baby is kicking.”

                He put his hand on her stomach and instantly felt a flutter. “Hey, little guy,” he said softly, tearing up.

                “Or girl,” she corrected him quietly, but she was starting to cry a little, too. “This is amazing, Bossuet.”

                “I can’t believe it. Baby Baby is real and alive and listening to us,” he marveled. “It’s…such a beautiful moment.”

                “There isn’t anyone I’d rather share it with,” she answered.

               

 

 


	6. May

It was getting harder to be at home.

                Bossuet and Musichetta were getting closer and closer. Musichetta was getting bigger and bigger. Joly was home less and less, and, according to Bossuet and Musichetta, he was missing _so much._

                The baby was kicking now. The baby reacted to a light, if you shone it on Musichetta’s stomach. The baby could hear and recognize voices.

                At least, Joly was pretty sure. He hadn’t been home when baby Baby did any of those things. And Bossuet and Musichetta’s retelling of the events, though vivid, really didn’t give him the same warm feeling they’d described.

                It was lonely.

                He knew they thought he was avoiding them on purpose, that he just didn’t want to face them anymore, but he really did need to put in a lot of work at the hospital. Things were getting tricky, and the staff needed all hands on deck. It may have seemed standoffish to Bossuet and ‘Chetta, but that just wasn’t true.

                Well, not completely true.

                “Joly, you sure are putting in a lot of work lately,” another doctor said to him as they met each other in the storeroom. “It’s nice, but doesn’t your family miss you?”

                Joly forced a smile. “They understand that this is important. Besides, I don’t want to be in the way.”

                Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Oh my god, your girlfriend’s pregnant! I forgot, Joly you should definitely be home! What if something happens while you’re gone?”

                He smiled wanly. “Things already have. It’s okay. Bossuet’s got her. He’ll be a good caretaker.”

                Her mouth formed the ‘O’ that he was so used to seeing when people heard about their relationship, she seemed to be backtracking in her head. “Right, of course. Well, you still should be there. I’ll bet the baby misses its daddy. How many months along is she?”

                “She’s in her sixth month,” Joly answered, somewhat tensely.

                “Oh, so the baby can hear voices and stuff! That’s so neat! When I was pregnant, the baby kicked at my voice and would roll around when he heard my husband’s. What does it do for you?”

                Joly looked down. “I don’t know.”

                “You mean she didn’t tell you?”                       

                “No.” Joly wanted to disappear. “I mean, I haven’t talked to the baby yet.”

                She widened her eyes. “Joly, you need to spend more time with them!”

                He tried to smile. “We’ll see, Adrienne. Right now I just want to help this patient.”

                ~

                All day long, at work, he thought about his conversation with Adrienne. She really did have a point, he thought. He should definitely be there for baby Baby, even if he wasn’t the father. He’d hate to be so distant-after all, that’s what he’d been afraid of this whole time. A little bit of time with Bossuet and ‘Chetta wouldn’t be selfish, especially on the grounds that he wanted to spend time with the baby. He’d be just fine.

                ~

                “Where’s Musichetta?” was the first thing he asked when he got home and saw Bossuet lounging on the couch.

                “She went to bed early,” Bossuet answered, licking Cheeto dust off his fingers. “She’s just been tired out lately.”

                Joly’s heart sank.  “Really?”

                “I wouldn’t lie.” Bossuet sat up straight. “Why? What’s the big deal?”

                He sighed. “Nothing.”

                “Oh, so your little shut-the-world-out act only applies to me.”

                Joly turned around. “What?”

                “You haven’t said more than a sentence to us in _months!_ You never want to do anything anymore, just spend all your time at _work,_ that’s all you need! Did it occur to you at all that there are people in this house that might _miss_ you? That avoiding human contact _wasn’t_ a good way to keep people who care about you around?! Did you step back to consider _anyone’s_ feelings beside your own? But no, no, that’s not how it is, is it?! Because you’ll talk to ‘Chetta, now, of course, now that the baby’s getting interesting! You came in just now breathless, like you’d been waiting all day for her! Is that how it is, Joly? Your issue is only with me? Are you _jealous_?”

                Joly gaped. “Bossuet, _what?_ ”

                “Do not deny this.”

                He took a deep breath. “Bossuet, I’m sorry if it seems like that to you. This isn’t especially easy for me, either, so I’m doing my best to cope.”

                “Yeah? Well, I think you need a new strategy.”

                Joly sighed and walked up the stairs.

                ~

                Then, things got worse.

                “Doctor Joly, please come to room 209, Doctor Joly, code red, 209.”

                _209._ That was a number he knew by heart. Mr. Fauchelevent’s room number. His main patient. Cosette’s friend.

                _Code red._ He knew what that meant, too. A patient was in real danger of dying.

                As fast as he could, Joly bolted to room 209, where there was complete chaos. Monitors were going off everywhere, doctors were rushing around, and Fauchelevent was unconscious.

                _I’ve been trained to handle this._ Joly reminded himself. _I know how to save him. I can do it._

                “Listen to me,” he said, using a forceful voice he didn’t even know he had. “He is in grave danger and we need to do all we can. May I see him?”  

                Two nurses stepped aside to make a path, and Joly strode forward.

                “He’s had another heart attack,” he diagnosed. “This will be difficult to fix. Can someone please get a defibrillator?”

                A nurse picked it up, and Joly took it carefully. “Does anyone have another idea?”

                No one did.

                “Then let’s try.”

                And they did.

                It had been about an hour when the shortest nurse said it.

                “He’s dead, Doctor Joly.”

                Joly couldn’t move.

                “Doctor Joly.” She nudged him. “Mr. Fauchelevent is dead.”

                _It’s scientific._ Joly reminded himself. _This is life. This is how it goes. People die, and you just happened to be here._

                Oh, god, he was going to have to tell the family. They knew him. He was the primary doctor.

                _Cosette._

“I…yes, Marie. You are correct. I…I will…”

                The nurse cocked her head. “Doctor Joly, haven’t you ever lost a patient before?”

                Slowly, Joly shook his head.

                “Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Well, it’s alright. You’re alright. Nobody blames you, Doctor Joly. We will have to place the body in the hospital mortuary, and of course tell the family. But it will be alright.”

                Numbly, Joly nodded and followed her, his mind a complete blur.

                ~

                “I am so sorry,” he told the family, tears blurring his eyes. “We did everything we could.”

                The family patted him on the back and assured him it wasn’t his fault, but they were wrong, he told himself. Wrong.

                ~

                He got home early for the first time in months, but Bossuet and Musichetta didn’t understand why.

                “Look who it is!” ‘Chetta cheered from her perch on the couch. “How come you’re so early?”

                Bossuet said nothing. He and Joly hadn’t spoken since their fight days earlier, and he simply regarded him with a reproachful look.

                Joly sighed. “I lost a patient.”

                “ _What?!_ ” Musichetta muted the TV. “Joly, that’s…”

                “Awful.” Bossuet supplied. He was pale white. “Oh, my god, Joly, are you okay?”

                “I don’t know,” he answered honestly, sitting down on the couch.

                Musichetta opened her arms. “Come here, baby,” she said. “Let me take care of you.”

 


	7. June

Life was just…messy.

                Joly was a wreck. Musichetta was a wreck for different reasons. Bossuet was a wreck because Musichetta and Joly were both wrecks.

                Baby Baby was doing just fine, according to the doctors. Healthy, happy, and right on schedule. Musichetta was really getting big, and the three were excited. This was a real baby. _Their_ baby.

                Everything was falling into place. The nursery was finished. Bossuet and Musichetta went to their classes every week. It was all coming together.

                And, yet…

                “This heat is infernal!” Musichetta yelled. “There is _no_ reason it should be 30 degrees in June. None! Some of us have two people in one body!”

                Joly and Bossuet exchanged a look. “Do you, uh, want something? Iced tea?” Bossuet had stocked up after Musichetta drank a whole carton in a day.

                “No. God, no. Baby Baby hates the raspberry kind. You drink it.”

                “I don’t like the raspberry kind, either.”  Joly reminded her gently.

                “Like father, like-“ Bossuet started, but Joly gave him a look. “Oh. I’m trying too hard again?”

                Joly nodded.

                Bossuet turned bright red. “Sorry.”

                “How are you feeling besides that, ‘Chetta?” Joly asked kindly.

                She sighed. “I feel super cranky, but I’m holding it in for you guys.”

                Bossuet had to fight hard to hide his smile. “You sure are. And how’s baby Baby?”

                “Kicky,” she answered. “I don’t think this baby is a fan of summer, either. And there are still two more months to go.”

                “Two months.” Bossuet said, awestruck. “That’s crazy.”  
                Joly smiled wryly. “And so, we wait.”

                ~

                Joly wasn’t at work much anymore.

                He still had his normal hours, but compared to the time he had been putting in, it seemed as if he never left.

                “It’s fine,” he’d say when Bossuet or Musichetta tried to talk with him about what had happened weeks ago. “It happens, right? People die.”

                But he still had nightmares. Three times a week, at the least. Musichetta would be the one to wake up and hold him, as Bossuet slept like a rock. She’d take him in her arms, cradle him, and press kisses to his forehead.

                “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. You did the best you could.”

                No matter how many times she said it, he never really stopped crying.

                They had the same conversation every morning.

                “I don’t want to go to work.”

                “Joly, you have to go to work. They need you.” That was Bossuet.

                “They have no need for an incompetent doctor.”  
                Then Musichetta would sigh. “You’re not incompetent.”

                “What is the job of a doctor, ‘Chetta?”

                That was when she knew she had lost. “To help people. To save lives.”

                “That’s right. And did I do that job?”

                “Joly, yes! With a whole bunch of people and so many more to come!”

                “But not every one.”

                Bossuet jumped in there. “Some people can’t be saved, Joly.”

                “If he had no chance of being saved, they wouldn’t have brought him to the hospital, Bossuet! They assigned me to be the one to save his life; I did not! I did not do my job, I am not a competent doctor, and I should not go back!”

                “Joly, you can’t honestly think you are the only doctor to lose a patient.”

                That was always when he’d stand up and walk out of the room, breathing fast. No matter how many times they reminded him that it was normal, natural, and not anything he could have prevented, he never believed them.

                ~

                But life did go on. Joly was assigned new patients, Musichetta started getting more used to pregnancy, and Bossuet fulfilled his position as all-time helper.

                And baby Baby kept kicking.

                ~

                June passed by quickly. What with the constant doctor appointments and other various fun they always seemed to have, the three barely even noticed the days passing.

                On one of the last days, Joly and Bossuet surprised ‘Chetta. When she woke up, neither of them were in bed. Smiling slightly, she called, “Oh, where are my beautiful boys?”

                “Coming!” The house smelled slightly of smoke, and she smiled even wider. Bossuet had cooked for her.

                They arrived within minutes with breakfast on a tray, and she clapped her hands. “You are the sweetest!”

                “It should be your favorite.” Joly said anxiously. “Huevos rancheros?”

                “For sure. Thank you.”

                “That’s not all,” Bossuet said, beaming. “We have presents, too.”

                Musichetta gaped. “There’s no reason for that!”

                “Well, you are carrying Bossuet’s child,” Joly shrugged.

                “Our child.” Bossuet corrected.

                “Regardless, we can’t imagine that as being an easy job, per se, so we thought there was some stuff you deserved.” Joly finished. “And so, here you go.” He placed two presents on the bed next to her.

                Overwhelmed, Musichetta teared up. “You _guys!_ ” she cried. “How did I get so lucky?”

                “Mainly you were just really hot and we were really lonely,” Bossuet explained. “But we’ve since come to love you for even more reasons. Come on, open ‘em up !”

                She laughed, wiping her tears away. “Alright, let’s take this one first.” She opened up a bag and ripped out the tissue paper.

                “I love it!” she yelled, when she saw the ‘Because I’m the mom, that’s why,’ T-shirt. “You know how often I’ll be saying this. Aw, guys, that’s a really good one. Thanks!”

                “There’s one more.” Joly reminded her. “Although this one isn’t so funny.”

                “It’s meaningful and shit? This better not make me cry.”

                “You’re already crying.” Bossuet pointed out.

                “Shut up, nerd,” she retorted, but she pulled him into a hug anyway. “God, I love you guys. Alright, let’s get this over with.” She opened the small box and immediately gasped. “Oh, my god.”

                “Do you like it?” Bossuet persisted. “We thought you would, but just in case…”

                She held the silver necklace up, an intricate silver circle with “mama” etched sleekly into it. “This

is perfect. Oh, my god, I love it so much. You guys are the sweetest. The absolute sweetest. Oh, god, I

really am crying!” She sniffed, covering her mouth. “Come here.”

                They both obliged, coming in on either side of her and giving her a big hug.

                “We love you,” Bossuet said, resting his head on her shoulder. “So much. And you’re going to be

the best mother.”

                She smiled. “And you two will be the best fathers. Sorry I didn’t get anything for you.”

                “’Chetta, we don’t _need_ anything,” Joly told her. “Just one healthy, happy baby in that delivery

room, and I will be the happiest man you could ask for.”

                She wiped the tears away. “I’ll do my best. God, you both better be there in that delivery room

with me. Childbirth is going to _hurt!”_

                Bossuet smiled. “We promise. We’ll be holding your hands the entire time.”

                Musichetta looked at Joly. “Will you be there?”

                “Of course.”

                “Even with work?”

                “’Chetta, this is the birth of my first child. I would not miss it for the world. Someone can take

my shift.”

                She smiled. “There’s the answer I was hoping for.”

 

 


	8. July

Musichetta received a phone call from her sister in early July.

                “Hello? Yeah, hey, Jeanette. What’s up? Yes, I am…Yes…in my eighth month already, it’s

crazy…Yes, we’re all prepared…what? Oh. Well…I suppose I could manage that…for how long? Oh…oh,

god, Jeanette, I don’t know if I could do that…I know it’s the only time you’re free, but couldn’t it wait

until after? …Well, yes, I know I wouldn’t have much time, but…Fine. I’ll talk to the boys tonight.”

                It was suppertime when she dropped the bomb.

                “Jeanette wants me to stay at her house for a couple days at the end of July.”

                Joly was the first to react. “The end of July? ‘Chetta, that’s a bad idea. You know baby Baby is

supposed to be due in early August.”

                “I know, but we haven’t seen each other in a year, and she says I won’t have any time after baby

Baby is born, and the end of July is the only time she’s free.”

                Joly looked at Bossuet. “What do you think?”

                “Me? God, Joly, I don’t know. I’m not nearly as smart as you are with this stuff, but as long as

she’s not alone, I guess it’d be fine.”

                Joly nodded. “Yes…Jeanette’s the one who lives in the middle of nowhere, right?”

                “Technically, she does live _somewhere_ , Joly. Larressingle. It’s in west France.”

                “Ah, yes. Population 202.”

                “Stop making fun of it!”

                Bossuet grinned. “Face it, ‘Chetta, it’s pathetic. The town, not your sister. I think Jeanette’s

great. But Larressingle is super dumb.”

                She allowed herself a small smile. “Maybe so. But what do you think?”

                Joly still looked undecided. “I don’t know…”

                “Please, dad?” she teased. “I’ll be good!”

                He smiled at that. “Alright. But Bossuet and I are joining you.”

                “Yes!” she cheered.

                Bossuet grinned, too. “Al _right._  Road trip!”

                “The three of us are taking Larressingle.”

                “Four.” Bossuet corrected. “Four of us, Joly.”

                Joly looked surprised. “Yes, of course. Four.”

                ~

                Packing was always a mess with them.  

                “Bossuet, do you have my pink beanie?” Musichetta called.

                “No, I loaned it to Cosette.”

                Joly poked his head in the door. “Do you even ever _talk_ to Cosette?”

                “I passed her on the street and her ears looked cold.”

                Musichetta stood up, her hands on her hips. “Bossuet, what about _your_ ears?”

                He turned pink. “…I don’t know.”

                “You,” she declared “are too nice. Joly, what are we going to do with him?”

                “Probably let him finish packing his suitcase, and then get him a new hat. The train leaves in

three hours!”

                “And we live five kilometers from the train station,” Musichetta pointed out. “We’ll be fine. In

the meantime, were you the one who not-so-sneakily stole some of my underwear?”

                Joly blushed. “Maybe? I like the way it feels.”

                She studied him. “Never would have guessed you had it in you. I love it. Don’t do it while we’re

in Punyville, though, or I’ll have to go Commando.”

                “Why is that a bad thing?” Bossuet teased, and a thong hit him in the face.

                ~

                “What am I forgetting?” Joly said, pacing the train platform. “I don’t feel secure right now, which

means I have to have forgotten something, but _what?_ ”

                “Is it to kiss your two favorite people in the whole wide world?” Bossuet guessed.

                Joly glared at him. “No. Don’t distract me.”

                “Love you.” Bossuet said quietly.

                Musichetta smiled.

                ~

                They were on the train when Joly remembered.

                “A blanket!”

                Musichetta and Bossuet regarded him quizzically. “A blanket?”

                “ _That’s_ what I forgot!”

                “You know Jeanette owns a few blankets, right?”

                He scowled. “Not the right kind. Not my kind.”

                “Joly is very particular about his blankets.” Bossuet whispered to her. “He always has been.

Mainly I just accept it.”

                She nodded. “Okay. Love you, Joly.”

                ~

                “Jeanette!”

                “Musichetta!”

                “Jean _ette!”_

_“_ Musi _che_ tta!”

“I’m starting to hope baby Baby is a boy,” Bossuet muttered to Joly. “I don’t think I could take

that squealing on a daily basis.”

                Musichetta whirled around. “Don’t be a sexist prick. Just for that, unpack my suitcase.”

                Bossuet looked appalled with himself. “Did I really just say that? God, yes, I deserve it. Okay.

Let’s go, Joly. Let them have their time.”

                ~

                The week certainly did fly by, although a lot of it was just sitting and talking. Musichetta couldn’t do much because of her condition, but she managed to have an excellent time anyway. Joly and Bossuet got to know Jeanette better, and Musichetta seemed pleased that her boyfriends and sister got along so well with each other.

                “And you don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl yet?” Jeanette had asked them one evening, sitting on the porch.

                Bossuet shook his head. “Nope. We want to be surprised.”

                She smiled, leaning forward slightly. “I bet you have some preference, though.”

                “No.” That was Joly. “We just want a healthy baby. I have a horrible feeling that somehow this birth will not go exactly as planned.”

                Musichetta hit him lightly. “You are a worrywart. We’ve been ready for this for months. We’ll know what to do.”

                ~

                They ended up going home two days early, though, at Joly’s request.

                “I just…you’re supposed to be home three days before your due date,” he reminded her. “Taking a train on the second of August just doesn’t seem like a good idea. It’s a long ride. Can we please just go the thirty-first instead?”

                She had kissed him and said “Of course,” but insisted on a night train.

                “I want as much time as possible,” she said. “This is my sister, after all. Is that okay?”

                “Yes,” Bossuet had said, before Joly could say anything. “Do whatever you need.”

                ~

                They had said tearful goodbyes, but on the train station, they were all laughing. Joly had breathed a sigh of relief when the train pulled away, and Musichetta bumped him, smirking. “Feel better?”

                “Much.  Thanks ‘Chetta.”

                “Eh, no problem. She can get on your nerves after a while, anyway.”

                Bossuet nodded discreetly, and she kicked him lightly. “Shut up! Only I can talk about my sister like that!”

                “I didn’t say a word!” he protested, but laughed with them anyway.

                ~

                They were only an hour outside of Larressingle when Musichetta looked up from her cell phone. Quickly, she nudged Joly and Bossuet, asleep on each other’s shoulders. “Guys.”

                When neither of them moved, she bumped into them harder. “Guys, I need you to wake up right now.”

                It took them awhile, but within a few seconds, their eyes were open. “’Chetta, what is it?” Joly asked groggily.

                She took a deep breath. “My water just broke.”

               

 

 


	9. August

“Okay.” Joly was trying to stay calm. “Okay. We’ve got about five hours before we get to Paris. Can you wait that long?”

                “No!” Musichetta grunted “Oh, god, that might have been a contraction.”

                Joly’s eyes widened. “Bossuet, go see if there’s an obstetrician on board. ’Chetta, you just listen to me, okay? You’re going to be okay. The baby is going to be okay.”

                “It _hurts_ , Joly!”  
                “I know. I know, love. The good news is, I don’t think it’s a contraction just yet. The earliest you’ll have one would be like five minutes from now. You need to relax, okay?”

                “Okay. Okay, I’m relaxing.”

                “Good. Breathe for me, alright? Bossuet’s going to be back real soon, and he’ll have someone qualified with him.”

                “God, this is inopportune. “

                Joly laughed “Yes, I’d have to say so. Nothing we can’t handle, though, right? Look how far we’ve made it.”

                She smiled weakly. “Yeah.”

                Bossuet ran back. “There is not a single obstetrician on this train. I double-checked everywhere but-“

                “It’s alright, Eagle. Nothing’s really happened yet. Baby Baby can hold on. We’re going to make it.”

                Half an hour later, Musichetta had her first contraction.

                “This…is…real,” she puffs. “It does not feel good and I…hate…it.”

                “I bet,” Joly sympathized. “But it’s alright. The next one could be awhile. Early labor takes up to twelve hours for first-time moms, so you’ll be okay.”

                Her next contraction came fifteen minutes later.

                “Hey, hey, it’s okay. So what if it’s a little earlier than we expected? We’ve got this! You are going to be just fine, Musichetta. Do you hear me? Just fine.”              

                It wasn’t that long before Bossuet said it.

                “Joly, I may not have paid much attention in those classes, but I’m pretty sure she’s going into labor.”

                “What?” Joly raised his head in alarm.

                “It’s true,” Musichetta told him. “They’re lasting longer and there’s only like four minutes in between them.  We learned what that means. I’m having a baby.”

                For a split second, Joly looked absolutely terrified. Then he nodded. “Okay. Bossuet, you need to get everyone out of this compartment on the train. When you come back, you’re going to need to hold ‘Chetta’s hand and do a lot of talking with her. ‘Chetta, lie down and take off your underwear and leggings.”

                “What are you going to do?”

                Joly gritted his teeth. “I am delivering this baby.”

                “Now?!”

                “When else? We’re in the middle of nowhere, there’s not another stop for three hours, and there’s no way she can wait that long! It’s now or never, Bossuet!”

                If Bossuet or Musichetta were surprised with his tone, they didn’t show it. Instead, they followed Joly’s instructions exactly, without another word of disagreement.

                “You’ve never done this before, have you?” Musichetta asked as she placed herself down on the train seat.

                “No,” Joly answered, “but I’ve been reading up on it, and I did take an obstetrician class in college.”

                She rolled her eyes. “I feel so much better.”

                “Hey. What’s your other option here?”

                She quieted down.

                “Your cervix needs to be 10 centimeters wide before you start pushing. Right now it looks like about three, so we’ll hold up a bit on that. Why don’t you tell me what you learned in those classes.”

                She winced as another contraction came. “Joly, I have bad news for you.”

                “No worse than the fact that a doctor who killed somebody is now responsible for bringing his girlfriend and her child through labor.”

                “It might be. Bossuet and I never went to a single birthing class.”

                Joly nearly fell over. “ _What?_ ”

                “We meant to, I swear! But then we thought, you know, tacos sounded so good, and there was a Taco Bell on that corner…”

                “But Bossuet _just said!_ ”

                “Yeah, we were trying to keep it a secret from you.”

                Joly ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay. Okay, fine. Great. Whatever. I can’t do this.”

                “Yes you can!” Bossuet had come back. “Besides, you kind of have to.”

                “If I attempt this single-handedly, they could very well die!”

                “And if you don’t, we definitely will!” Musichetta fought back. “This baby is coming, Joly. I can feel it!”

                He took a few deep breaths. “Okay. Okay. Bossuet, coach her, alright? Do what you can.”

                Bossuet nodded, taking her hand. “Okay, ‘Chetta, time to kick some ass. You think you can?”

                “No!” she yelled “AAAAAGGH!”

                “Your cervix is about seven centimeters,” Joly told her. “Get ready. And prepare for more contractions!”

                “THIS SUUUUUUUCKSSS!”

                “If that’s helping you, go for it!” Bossuet cheered. “Let me see my kid!”

                “Eight centimeters!”

                “FUUUUCCKK THISS!”

                “Hang on, ‘Chetta!”

                “Nine centimeters!”

                “I AM ABOUT TO PUSH A HUMAN BEING OUT OF HERE!” She looked flushed, but Joly couldn’t help but to think she was beautiful, even like this.

                “Ten!” Joly shouted. “Musichetta, you need to push!”

                And she did.

                And she did.

                And she did.

                “Tell me you see a head,” she gasped, after five minutes. “Or ANYTHING!”         

                Joly shook his head, biting his lip the way he always did when he was nervous. “Not yet. But it’s okay!” he reassured them. “This will take time.”

                And it did.

                “Squeeze my hand as hard as it hurts, ‘Chetta!” Bossuet cried. “It’s okay! Think about baby Baby! He or she loves you so much, and can’t wait to meet you!”

                Breathing hard, she pushed again.

                “That’s a head,” Joly said, quietly. “Chetta, that’s a head!”

                “Did you hear that? A HEAD!” Bossuet shouted.

                Musichetta groaned. “Tell me I can take a break. A quick break, to catch my breath.”

                Joly nodded. “I was just going to suggest that. Breathe. Four deep breaths, ‘Chetta, then we’re back at it.”

                It took a while. A half hour, when Joly cried “’Chetta, you are so close! Two more pushes and the baby is out!”

                “Two more pushes? That’s simple!” cried Bossuet. “Come on, Musichetta, picture baby Baby playing with the three of us on the floor! You’re two pushes away from seeing that kid! Give me one!”

                Gasping and shouting, she gave a push.

                “One more…” Joly said. His bottom lip was bleeding from being bitten so much. “One more, ‘Chetta.”

                With one more shriek, she pushed the baby out, and into Joly’s arms.

                “That’s it! You did it!” Bossuet’s voice was hoarse. “Musichetta you’re done!”

                “The baby’s crying,” she said weakly.

                “I know! It’s healthy!” Bossuet was giddy. “Isn’t that great?”

                Joly was holding the baby, crying and covered in the fluid. “Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he said softly. “I’ve got you.”

                He made eye contact with Bossuet. “She still needs to push out the placenta,” he told him.  “Can you…?”

                “Of course.” Bossuet put his hand on Musichetta’s shoulder. “Can you push out a placenta for me, love? Just a tiny little placenta! Let’s do it!”

                Exhausted though she was, Musichetta took a deep breath, pushed with all her might, and out came the placenta. Joly put it on the windowsill.

                “How’s the baby?” Musichetta asked, softly.  
                Joly looked at her. “I don’t know. She’s crying, which is good. On the other hand…I don’t have any equipment to make sure she’s healthy. We need an actual hospital for that. But she has ears, a nose and mouth, eyes, ten fingers and ten toes, so I would say she is a relatively healthy baby.”

                “Did you say ‘she’?” Bossuet’s voice was soft, too.

                Joly smiled. “Yes. A girl.”

                All three of them beamed. “A girl,” Musichetta said faintly. “I love it. Can I hold her?”

                Joly shook his head. “No, not yet. She’s covered in goop. They’ll need to wash her when we get to the hospital.”               

                They all nodded.

                “But for now,” he said, turning her toward them, “This is what she looks like.”

                ~

                _Elaine Jeanette Joly_

_Born at 12:49 AM_

_Delivered by the bravest man we know_

_3.6 Kilograms_

_Mama and baby are both fine, will have to stay in the hospital for a few extra days, though_

_Mama’s favorite thing about her: her little sighs._

_Papa’s favorite thing about her: when she wraps her hand around my finger._

_Daddy’s favorite thing about her: she’s ours._


End file.
